


When I Was All Alone

by godtiermeme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Deaf Dave, M/M, Mute Dave, Mute John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A songfic based on Paul Williams' song (the one this entire thing is named after). All the <b><i>bold, italicised</i></b> parts are song lyrics and, therefore, belong to and are intellectual property of Paul Williams. The idea behind it is deaf!Dave and mute!John. Bro is Dave's legal guardian and the owner of a modestly successful music store. John is an employee at said store, in charge of setting up displays and keeping things in relative order on the shelves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual, feel free to leave comments. I probably made a mistake or two (or fifteen thousand). If you're interested, you can listen to Paul Williams' awesome song (which, as stated, this fic is based around) by clicking [**HERE**](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VxYjJySXbg)! (That link leads to YouTube, just so we all know.)

_**“People looked right through me** _  
_**When I was all alone** _  
_**Never seemed to notice I was there at all** _  
_**Always seemed to look the other way…”** _

Today, the third day of December, is your birthday; and, your brother is off on some so-called “important business”. The unassuming name doesn't fool you, though. You know he’s going to the bar; and, even though you've never mentioned it to him, you've known that since you were seven. You've asked Rose to come and hang out with you in the store, but she only responded with her not-that-uncommon drunken babble.

Today, the third day of December, is your birthday; and, you’re alone. On the other hand, you really should have expected this. While you love your brother and cousin, you've grown to accept their general neglect. You've learned to live with it. Bro will come back eventually. Rose will be coherent enough to wish you happy birthday tomorrow. It’s not all that different from the past ten birthdays, after all.

It’s your birthday. You've reminded yourself of that more times than you really need to, and it’s starting to do nothing but make you more upset. Yet, for some stupid reason, you can’t stop thinking of it. Today is the day Bro promised to take you to the arcade. It’s the day Rose promised to be sober enough to acknowledge the event…

You heave another sigh of frustrated despair and, just before you lose control of your usual façade of emotional disinterest, you feel something hit you on the shoulder. It falls beside you, easily identifiable as a rather masterfully folded paper aeroplane. Out of curiosity, you unfold it; and, inside, you find a simple message written in blue pen.

_you've been sitting in front of the turntables for two hours, looking all lonely and shit. you want to come up behind the counter or something? i’d love someone to chat with._

You frown, your gaze darting up from the note, falling upon _him_.

His black hair is messy, as per usual, and a nervous, toothy grin is spread across his tan, freckled face. From behind the glass of his rectangular-framed glasses, a pair of blue-grey eyes peer hopefully at you.

Normally, you’d say no. But, this time, you can’t. You can’t say no to him–to the hopeful smile in his face. At the same time, you can’t say yes without being sure that this is really happening. You frown and, without really thinking, reply as you would if he were Bro, using one of the few things that you still understand–sign language. _This is for me?_ Sign language… You hated it at first, but it quickly became another part of you. You quickly came to embrace it; and, now ,it’s how you usually gauge how you’re going to go about things with strangers. If they gave you a blank “what the fuck” stare, you know you’ll need some paper. If, by some chance, they show at least a hint of understanding, you know you can probably slide by without writing. That being said, you completely understand if he replies with the former reaction. In fact, you kind of expect him to respond like that…

He doesn't. Instead, he smirks and nods. He forms his right hand into a fist, bending it at the wrist and moving it up and down, as if he were knocking on an invisible door to Narnia, and winks.

And you, in a completely figurative way, shit your pants in shock. Following said figurative defecating of your pants, you remain seated for a few minutes. You try and digest the fact that the guy you've admired from afar for so long–the guy you've feared approaching, only to realise you had no way to actually talk with him–understands you. Once you've overcome the shock of this revelation, however, you spring at your chance, and fail to mask your enthusiasm as you dart up and sit in the old fold-out chair beside him.

As you sit down, though, you notice that he’s holding a deck of cards; and, from this deck, he seems to be pulling a single card up, out of the deck. For a lack of a better way to describe it, you’d say he’s using the Force on a single playing card (which, on a side note, is a rather stupid waste of such an awesome power).

He picks up on your fascination, and replies with a frolicsome smirk. Then, after a few seconds, he realigns the cards and slips them back into their tattered box. _I'm guessing you liked the trick?_ After his question, he levels his oddly his halcyon gaze on you and raises a brow.

 _Hell yeah,_ you reply enthusiastically. While you've never actually said it to anyone, you've always found magic tricks interesting. Sure, you know they’re tricks. But, really, that just adds to the mysticism for you. It fascinates you how people can think of ways to manipulate everyday objects in such fantastically novel ways.

You prepare yourself to comment further, only to notice him glancing towards the door. Your gaze follows his and, to your surprise, comes to rest upon the image of Bro in the doorway. Normally, you’d be ecstatic. But, for some reason, you feel a twinge of disappointment. After all, you've only just begun to talk with John. There is, though, one other way for you to talk with him more.

You reach into your pocket and, from it, you produce both a writing pad and your favourite red pen. Then, you jot down your Pesterchum name– _turntechGodhead_. You rip the section you’d written the user name on and hand it to John with a hasty, apologetic farewell…

* * *

—ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 22:58—

EB: hey. you’re the one i talked to at the music store, right? because, if not, this is going to be reeeeeeeeally awkward…

The messages greet you at (almost) the exact moment you sit down and log into the chat application. You feel the excitement bubbling up within you, but you abruptly push it down. Excitement is the last thing you need right now. No… What you need now is some good, level-headed thinking. You need to keep your cool; and, being a Strider, nothing should be easier…

TG: yeah you got it right  
TG: what kind of awesome shit do you have to talk about

Once you’re done typing, you nervously stare at the screen. In reality, the reply comes within seconds. But, to you, it feels like hours.

EB: i don’t know. actually, i was actually kind of hoping you’d have something to say.  
EB: but, i mean, if you want me to start the discussion… i guess it’s really boring over here, so i’ve really got nothing?

You start to type out a response, only to see the scroll bar shrink a bit as a new message pops up.

EB: you happen to have a webcam?  
TG: i do but but why the hell do you care if i have a webcam

For about a minute, the only thing moving on your screen is the steadily flashing line in the text box. Just as you start to wonder if you’d been a bit too harsh, though, the window flashes back to life.

EB: i just got a new webcam and i really want to test it out. is that a crime now?  
TG: no not really  
TG: i guess i might as well set mine up just hold on a minute this shit takes a few seconds to load

Having covered your ass, you proceed to pick through the pile of smuppets on your bed and, after a while, manage to pull out your shades. You quickly slip them on, brush back some of your hair, and dart back to the computer. As if on queue, a notification pops up just as you make yourself comfortable in the seat. You completely ignore the usual warning text about a video chat being requested, and skip straight to clicking “Accept”.

The cursor changes to that annoying hourglass for a brief moment before a new window pops up. And, in this new window, you see him. His hair is messier than usual, and he appears to be wearing an old tee shirt.

TG: forgot to mention it but in case you didnt pick up on it ive got some shitty hearing  
TG: so id be over the fucking moon if you could just stick to typing  
TG: yeah thatd be really awesome

It takes you all of five seconds to type the trio of messages. You've grown so accustomed to it; and, really, it’s become more of a habit. Even when you talk with Rose, you find yourself automatically typing out the miniature disclaimer.

EB: i already knew that, but thanks for the reminder, i guess.  
EB: rose told me when i talked to her an hour ago.  
EB: and i kind of guessed at the music store.  
TG: you know rose  
TG: how the hell do you know rose  
EB: i’m friends with her? jeez, you’re really aggressive.  
TG: sorry i guess i can come off that way  
TG: rub off that way  
TG: the second one is less likely to be taken the wrong way so im sticking to the second one  
TG: i rub off that way

In the video chat window, you notice John snickering a bit. Then, to your surprise, he appears to let forth a wholehearted laugh.

EB: yeah, i’d stick with the second one, too. the first one just sounds gross.  
EB: and i like how you show your thought process when you type. it’s rather amusing.  
EB: i’ve got to go now, though. sorry. :(  
EB: i’d love talking with you tomorrow, though!

He wants to talk to you. _He_ wants to talk to _you_. No... Not now. Now's a terrible time for this. You quickly shove the threatening tsunami of giddiness into the dark depths of your mind, all the while reminding yourself that you’re still on video chat. You can’t afford to flip the fuck out. At least, you can’t freak out _yet_ …

TG: thats fine i should probably be going too  
TG: got drying paint to stare at and places to not go to  
TG: maybe we could hang out at the music store again  
TG: ill bring the can of paint you bring the brush  
TG: maybe broll let me grab a hair dryer for extra excitement

Again, you notice John’s toothy, amused grin. He waves at you and, just as you feel the excitement beginning to reform near the forefront of your mind, closes his window.

—ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]—

As soon as the message pops up, you allow the surge of excitement to take hold. However, being a Strider, you still make sure to keep it in check. You limit yourself to a rather unbecoming fistpump and, after a few moments, decide to go to bed…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~OH MY GOD. FORMATTING PESTERCHUM LOGS MAKES ME WANT TO BANG MY HEAD INTO A WALL AND THROUGH THE SAME DAMNED WALL.~~ Oops. I said that. Um. Enjoy the update. Yay?

_**“Winter days were colder** _  
_**When I was all alone…”** _

It’s a snow day. Most of the local businesses and schools have been closed; and, even with the luxury of having neither work nor school to attend, you find yourself standing outside of the music store. You find yourself standing there, hoping that, maybe, he’ll show up…

Five minutes pass, melting into an hour, the hour slowly fading into another. You watch the crowd of younger kids playing in the parking lot in front of the store with avid boredom, all the while searching for the familiar mop of messy black hair. The clouds slowly clear, the sun rolls to its highest point; and, you, disheartened by his absence, turn to go home. At the same time, you reach into your pocket and dig out the cigarettes you've recently smuggled out of the nearby gas station and the shitty lighter one of the shop patrons had left behind a few weeks ago. As logical event progression would dictate, you then proceed to light one of the toxic tobacco-and-paper sticks before sticking it between your lips and shoving your hands into your pockets, burying the evidence of your crime.

Then, you think. Maybe Bro was right… Perhaps you’re just chasing after someone who could care less about you. After all, you barely know John. All you know is that you like how he looks–how he carries himself. That’s all you know about him… If you know so little about him, you wouldn't be surprised if he knew nothing about you.

You're starting to head back home when, through the thin, wavy curls of smoke rising from your cigarette, you see that messy black hair; you see the stupid, toothy grin and the lightly freckled face you've been waiting for. Your usual façade of cool disinterest drops for a moment, and a wide grin spreads across your face. Within seconds, though, you catch onto your “mistake” and resume the passive facial expression you usually have. Simultaneously, you offer John a casual nod of greeting.

He, in return, whips out his phone. His thumbs fly rapidly from button to button and, within seconds, your phone begins to vibrate.

You fish the device from your pocket and look at the screen, your eyes skimming the text of the Pesterchum application.

—ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 13:08—  
EB: sorry. dad dragged me and my ass to piano practice.  
EB: …again.

When you raise your eyes from the text and look at him, you’re met with an apologetic half-smile. You can’t help but continue to stare at him, taking complete advantage of the reflective shades you always wear. Without really bothering to look at the screen, you haphazardly hammer out a reply and send it. In fact, you bother looking down only after submitting the message and, seconds later, feeling the phone vibrating to notify you of John’s reply.

TG: thats fine i completely get it  
TG: oh by the way i managed to bum money off of bro  
TG: so if you want to go to a movie and dick or something  
EB: what the fuck? i really hope that’s autocorrect talking…  
TG: oh god fucking dammit again TG: yeah sorry i meant dinner  
TG: if you want to go to a movie and DINNER or something  
TG: i fucking hate this phone In usual Strider style, you manage to push back a rising blush.

You make a mental note to stop typing without looking at the screen, and a hasty apology to your conscience for the blatant autocorrect lie.  
EB: that’s okay.  
EB: but yeah, that sounds awesome.  
EB: i have to get back home for dinner, but we can go do some stupid shit until then.  
EB: there aren’t any movies i’d like to see, though. but you might want to see one…  
TG: yeah i love sitting in a dark room for two hours trying to figure out what arnold whatever his name is is saying  
TG: thats totally my idea of fun

As soon as you finish typing, you look towards him. You notice the rather nervous look on his face, as well as the obvious flushing of his cheeks, and quickly attempt to provide a remedy. You show the faintest hint of a grin, trying to communicate to him that he hadn't done anything wrong; and, as an extra precaution, you make it clear via chat.

TG: youre fine dude  
TG: calm your man tits down  
TG: i was joking okay  
TG: its a joke  
TG: you know like haha funny joke?

Again, you glance towards him. To your relief, everything indicative of embarrassment has been discarded. He’s no longer blushing and has forgone the tense, nervous posture he’d had moments earlier.

EB: thanks for clearing that up.  
EB: i was starting to think i’d offended you.  
EB: kind of hard to know if you’re being serious when there’s no voice to the words, you know?  
TG: tell me about it  
TG: to make sure you know thats also a joke

As you raise your eyes from the small screen of your phone, you notice him laughing. Well, to be more accurate, snickering. You take your left hand from the phone at this point and reach up, taking the cigarette (which, you note to yourself, you've been holding in your mouth for far too long) between your first and middle finger and pulling it from your mouth. You hold it away from yourself long enough to simultaneously flick away some excess ash and prepare for the next drag. Then, you continue smoking, balancing the cigarette’s filter between your lips as you restart the carcinogenic cycle.

EB: ugh.  
EB: i hope you’re at least old enough to have that shit.  
TG: nope i think im the same age as you  
TG: im seventeen  
TG: but that means im almost a legal adult so i can make my own decisions  
EB: well okay then… i don’t like it, but i guess it’s already a habit for you.  
EB: just keep it away from me, okay?  
EB: i’d rather not die young.

You roll your eyes, a frustrated sigh forcing a large quantity of the smoke you’d been holding in your mouth into the air. The twisting tendrils of smoke drift towards John. However, seeing as you've returned your gaze to the phone screen, you remain unaware of John’s coughing.

TG: mother of god please dont be one of THOSE people  
TG: i can do whatever i fucking please  
TG: im almost an adult  
EB: ack. okay. fine. sorry i even brought it up.  
EB: but seriously, stop breathing that shit in my direction.  
EB: it makes it hard for me to breathe.  
EB: so yeah, i’d really appreciate if you just stopped smoking around me.  
EB: bonus points if you stop altogether, though!

Again, you respond with a roll of your eyes. Out of courtesy, though, you oblige and toss the cigarette into the snow, quickly extinguishing it with a flick of your boot-covered foot.

* * *

 

_**“Wasn’t I surprised to feel this warm inside** _  
_**The way it feels to be alone with you…”** _

EB: dad said i could stay with you for dinner, and he’s fine with me staying the night.

You respond to the text with an honest smile and a double thumbs up.

TG: then wed better start walking because the apartments a few blocks from here  
EB: but it’s night… isn’t it safer to get a cab or something?  
TG: nah ive walked longer to get back in the dark  
TG: and ive only been mugged once  
TG: that was a joke ive never been mugged

You feel him giving you a light, playful punch on the shoulder; and, you counter with a smirk. You stumble to your feet and extend a hand towards him. Once he has a firm grip on your hand, you pull him up, out of the snow you've both been sprawled out in. Before he has a chance to let go of your hand, though, you pull him closer to you and brush some of the freshly fallen snow from his soft black hair.

Not surprisingly, he starts typing up a message as soon as you release your hold on him.

EB: i’m not five!  
EB: geeze, you’re like my dad. i’m fine!

As he says this, you offer a crafty grin and gently shove him in the direction of your apartment. He stumbles ahead a few steps before turning, jokingly flipping you the bird, and shoving his phone into his pocket. You rightfully take this as his way of saying he’s sick of texting and, while keeping your eyes on him, put away your own cellular device. _“Fuck you! Let’s just get going already!”_ His words are harsh, but the grin on his face makes it clear that he’s joking. 

_"Watch your language, you little shit.”_ In a likewise fashion, you offer a grin to make it clear that your response isn't serious. You then wander over towards him and, after making sure he's following, begin the trek back to your apartment. Through the entire ten minute walk, you engage in conversation with him. “Conversation” isn't quite the right word, though. Actually, you’d describe it more as obscene bantering and mirthful bickering. It’s the longest you've talked to someone in the past year or so; and, it’s the most you've smiled in what seems like forever.

In fact, by the time you unlock the door and step into the smuppet-strewn living room, you’re uncharacteristically grinning ear-to-ear. If it weren't for the fact that it’s a completely stupid thing to do, you’d be skipping. But, seeing as it is stupid, you simply walk to your room.

You throw open the door and flip on the lights, watching as John looks on in admiring shock. You wait until he’s paying attention to you and, once he is, make no attempt to hide your smirk as you reply, _“Not as shitty as you thought, right?”_

He returns with a casual roll of his eyes and, after playfully dismissing you, climbs into your bed. _“No, it’s still pretty shitty. I don’t even get room service.”_

The comment draws from you a laugh–the first in years. It’s not one of your usual, breathy chuckles, either. Even without hearing it, you know it’s audible. _“Well, sorry, but the maids aren't working this week.”_

John smirks and rolls his eyes at you. _“That’s great. You need to fucking go on strike before I strangle you. It’s almost two in the morning, and I’d like to sleep a little.”_

You heave a sigh of faux annoyance and nod. Then, partially because the bed is big enough and mostly because it’s John, you refuse to relocate to a sleeping place that's not the bed John already occupies. Instead, you join him beneath the covers. To your surprise, he makes no objection as you thrash about for a few moments, trying to find the perfect spot. Eventually, you choose to lay on your side, facing him.

A few moments after you settle down, you feel him wrap his arm around you and pull you closer to him. You let forth a quiet, pleasantly surprised gasp as you force enough room between you and him for a quick final exchange, _“God this is so gay.”_

_“You were shivering.”_ His grin seems to indicate that he realises he’s lying. Neither you nor him really care, though. In fact, you merely reply with a quiet chuckle and a nod. Then, you rest your head against his chest. He quickly falls asleep and, in turn, lulls you to sleep with the steady rise and fall of his chest. Within a matter of an hour–and, on a side note, with the lights still on–both you and him have fallen into equally peaceful slumbers.


End file.
